


A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Good Omens (TV), Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Genre: Crossover, Genderfluid Character, Good Omens Kink Meme, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, Other, References to Jane Austen, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: It's 1815 and Crowley has decided to sow discord through the art of matchmaking. Unbeknownst to him, his intended target - a Miss Mary Crawford fresh from a bad break-up - has decided to do a little matchmaking of her own by pairing up her dear friend Miss Antonia Crowley with a certain Mr. Ezra Fell.





	A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the original prompt: "They are both hanging around Regency England for some reason. People overhear them discussing their "arrangement" and word spreads that they're betrothed. And, well, they can't "break it off", that would be a scandal, so they just have to roll with it. (Such a hardship.)
> 
> Prefer if they're passing as a het couple rather than going AU on social expectations, no preferences otherwise."

The year was 1815, the beginning of the social season, and Crowley strolled arm-in-arm with a delightful young lady named Mary Crawford. Well, most days she was delightful, but ever since she arrived in Bath she had been nothing short of a weepy mess. It was very alarming. Crowley had no idea what to do. As much as he enjoyed humans, they were very soggy creatures that tended to leak at the slightest provocation.  
  
“Oh, Miss Crowley, I must apologize for my behavior. I care for nothing of Mr. Bertram. Truly, I don’t. I shall rid myself of all thoughts of him and his bride. Shall we go to the shops and look at the hats?” Mary dabbed at her eyes as discreetly as she could.  
  
Crowley had first met her nearly two years ago. He had found her charmingly self-centered and in possession of a pragmatic mind with flexible morals. He just needed to get her into the right circles... the chaos she would cause! He thought he had the perfect match for her, the second son of a country squire who was destined for the Church. Mary Crawford, a vicar’s wife? She’d corrupt the entire flock. Hell would be pleased. And he hardly had to do anything, except throw her into the path of Mr. Bertram. It was a good plan. It should have work. Except Mr. Bertram apparently preferred his own cousin to a beautiful, intelligent, sophisticate like Mary Crawford.  
  
Crowley was growing more offended the more he thought about it. So, what? He didn’t think Mary Crawford was good enough because she wasn’t some self-righteous, holier-than-thou, stuck-up bitch like Fanny Price? Alright, so Mary wasn’t exactly as pure as the driven the snow, maybe she had done some things that weren’t on the up and up, but on the whole she was a decent person and deserved some sort of happiness and... Crowley was beginning to think this line of thought was resembling too much like self-reflection and immediately squashed it before he made any uncomfortable parallels between his situation and Miss Crawford’s.  
  
“You have such beautiful hair, Miss Crowley, I think you would look splendid in a dark green,” Miss Crawford said as she eyed a bolt of green silk lying in the store window.  
  
“What color will you be wearing to the ball?” Miss Crowley asked.  
  
“Oh, I won’t be going.”  
  
No. Crowley hadn't spent a year arranging her marriage just for her to give up now. “But you must! I cannot go by myself!”  
  
“Miss Crowley?”  
  
Crowley turned and saw Aziraphale. This was perfect. If demonic intervention couldn’t get the job done, then maybe a divine miracle would. After all, he owed him. Crowley gave a short courtsey. “Mr. Fell! A pleasure to see you here. Let me introduce you to my friend, Miss Mary Crawford. Miss Crawford, this is Mr. Ezra Fell, a scholar.”  
  
Aziraphale bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Crawford.”  
  
“We were just discussing the ball that’s to take place tomorrow night at the Assembly Rooms. Will you be there?”  
  
“Err...”  
  
“I know you’re not one for dancing but it would be a wonderful chance for us to catch up.” Crowley made sure to emphasize every word. Just in case the angel didn’t get it. He ignored the way Mary kept glancing between the two of them with a strange look on her face.  
  
Aziraphale sighed. “Alright, then. I will see you there.” He gave another bow and continued on with his walk. Crowley watched him go.  
  
Mary snaked her arm into his and led him straight into the store. “Come, we must find you the perfect dress for tomorrow night!”  
  
“You as well.”  
  
Mary nodded absently. “Yes, yes, of course.”

* * *

Crowley stared at the dress with trepidation. In the end, Mary had decided on a gown of white Indian muslin embroidered with gold apple blossoms for him to wear and no amount of refusals would get her to budge. There was a fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since Mr. Bertram had abandoned her, and he was curious as to where those scheming thoughts would lead them. Still... the dress was _white_. He was half-afraid that the moment he touched it the fabric would burn and darken to black. He brushed it with the tips of his fingers and then snatched his hand back as quickly as he could. Nothing. It remained pure. He paused, a little amazed; so he wasn't half so damned as that.  
  
Mary burst through the door as he was fixing his gloves. His stays were shorter than they had been in previous centuries but they were still blessed uncomfortable, even if they did make his tits look fantastic. “The carriage is here. You look wonderful! Mr. Fell won’t be able to take his eyes off you!”  
  
“Mr. Fell?” Crowley asked, but Mary was already pushing him out the door and into the carriage.  
  
The Assembly Rooms glittered in the candlelight. All around them, the bright young things fluttered across the floor, laughing, chatting, dancing. Crowley scanned the crowd in search of his angel. He was hard to miss. Between the awkward, uncomfortable smile that he had fixed to his face and his clothes that were 10 years out of date, Aziraphale stuck out like a sore thumb. While Mary was sufficiently distracted with an old friend of hers from London, Crowley made his break.  
  
“You needn’t look like that, it’s not that bad,” Crowley smiled as he came up beside Aziraphale. His smile grew wider as Aziraphale was forced to do a double-take, his blue eyes roving over the long, white lines of his dress. “Oh, do you like it? Decided to try something different.”  
  
“It’s very nice,” Aziraphale answered, his voice strangely rough. He gave a little cough to clear his throat. “Nice to see in something other than black.”  
  
“Are you not enjoying yourself, Mr. Fell?”  
  
“I’ve had to put a stop to at least three different attempts at adultery already!” said Aziraphale.  
  
“Only three?”  
  
“Crowley!”  
  
“Relax, angel, it’s a ball. It’s not like adultery is that big of a sin.”  
  
“Do you remember that Moses chap? God gave him a pair of stone tablets upon which She wrote down ten of the worst sins a human could commit? Adultery was number six.”  
  
“Well, since you’re already performing a few miracles, can I ask for one more? As a favor?”  
  
Aziraphale gave him a chastising look. “Really? Now?”  
  
“I did your bit last time. It’s your turn now. It’s time you honored our Arrangement.”  
  
Meanwhile, Mary’s night had taken a sharp turn. She had pretended not to notice when Miss Crowley sneaked away to meet her secret lover. She did adore conspiracies, and it was just the thing she needed to get over Mr. Bertram. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why their affair was a secret in the first place. Mr. Fell’s family could hardly disapprove of an independently wealthy woman for a bride, and Miss Crowley had no parents to stand in the way of whatever she wanted. A thought suddenly struck Mary as she wondered if perhaps Mr. Fell was already married and that was the source of their secrecy. How scandalous! How absolutely thrilling!  
  
Then she happened to notice a figure standing by the door, alone. It was her brother, Henry. Mary’s stomach took an awful turn. She was torn. She wanted to run up and throw her arms around him, but she also wanted to flee the Rooms, the city, maybe even the entire the country. Seeing her brother again only brought back painful memories of Mr. Bertram and the entire, horrible affair.  
  
Before she could decide what to do, Henry spotted her and rushed towards her side. “Mary, it’s been too long, how have you been holding up?”  
  
“Since Mansfield Park you mean?”  
  
His happy expression faltered. “You’re not still angry with me?”  
  
_That_ broke her resolve. “Why couldn’t you have shown some common sense! Didn’t you ever consider what would happen to me if you ran off with Mr. Bertram’s sister? Why couldn't you two have just made love in secret like anyone else with half a brain? _She_ has been cursing your name up and down every public place since you abandoned her in London, you know.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I--”  
  
Mary couldn’t bear to hear his apologies again and walked away to find Miss Crowley. To her annoyance, her brother followed behind.  
  
Miss Crowley and Mr. Fell were standing apart from everyone else, whispering to each other. Mary could just hear Miss Crowley say, “--It’s about time you honored our Arrangement,” when she and Henry approached them.  
  
“Mr. Fell, it is so good to see you again,” Mary said, her face glowing as she bowed. So, Mr. Fell wasn’t married but was secretly engaged to Miss Crowley! And it sounded like he no longer wanted to follow through with it, the scoundrel! “Let me introduce you to my brother, Mr. Henry Crawford. Henry, this is my friend, Miss Antonia Crowley, and an acquaintance of hers, Mr. Ezra Fell.”  
  
“How do you do.” Henry gave a bow and let his eyes rake over Miss Crowley.  
  
Perhaps Henry could make up for his abhorrent behavior. Jealousy could often spur even the most cautious of lovers, and Henry was a master at sowing jealousy.  
  
Predictably, Henry offered his hand to Miss Crowley. “Would you care to dance, Miss Crowley? That is, if Mr. Fell hasn’t already claimed the right.”  
  
Mr. Fell turned a brilliant pink. “No, I—That is, we never dance.”  
  
Miss Crowley flashed a wide, predatory smile in Mr. Fell’s direction. “Perhaps _you_ never dance, but I love dancing.” She took Henry’s hand and was swept away towards the dance floor while Mr. Fell could only stare on in abject horror.

Like all demons, Miss Crowley was an enthusiastic, but rather terrible dancer. Her partner more than made up for it, however. Henry Crawford was as effortlessly charming as his sister with a relaxed nature that let him shrug off anything, even if his dancing partner tread on his toes for the third time. “Are we dancing or are we fighting?” He joked.  
  
“Why choose when you can do both?”  
  
“Miss Crowley, I do believe you’re not the least bit sorry for the state of my feet.”  
  
Miss Crowley laughed. “I never apologize if I can help it!”  
  
“Perhaps you can make it up to me by removing your glasses?”  
  
A falter, another heel in Henry’s foot. “My glasses?” She asked.  
  
“I am burning to know what color your eyes are.” He put on a thoughtful expression, like a scholar lost in his own musings. “I bet they are blue.”  
  
She laughed again. “You would be wrong. But I mustn’t remove them, my doctor has forbidden it. My eyes are terribly sensitive to all light.”  
  
Aziraphale watched from a corner with Miss Crawford. Frankly, he didn’t see much point in Crowley tempting the boy like this; he was already an incorrigible cad. The sins that clung to his skin was like a signpost and if Aziraphale could read it then it must be glaringly obvious to Crowley that Henry Crawford was already bound for Hell. Really, this whole dancing thing was just a wasted effort.  
  
Miss Crawford leaned toward him. “They do make such a lovely pair, don’t they? They laugh together so easily.”  
  
Mary bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as Mr. Fell fumed beside her. A little more of this and Mr. Fell would be dragging Miss Crowley to the nearest church. There would be wedding bells within a fortnight and Mary... well, Mary supposed she could remain as Miss Crowley’s – Mrs. Fell’s – spinster friend. Great, now she was becoming maudlin.  
  
Aziraphale was about to reply when he noticed how despondent Miss Crawford had suddenly become. She was staring at the dancing couples with such a wistful expression that he felt his heart go out to her. Surely a pretty, intelligent girl like her would have no trouble finding a lad, and yet here she was all alone with only Crowley for company. The gallant thing to do would be to offer her a dance, but well... angels don’t dance. And demons _shouldn’t_ dance (not that it stopped them). But, at the very least, he could distract her from her troubles the best way he knew how.  
  
“Have you tried the chocolate truffle they have here?” He asked.  
  
She turned to him, amusement slowly creeping back into her face. “Indeed, I have not.”  
  
“Oh, you must have a taste. If you would follow me.” He offered his arm, which she took, and the two of them went off while Crowley and that boy made a game of swinging into as many of the dancers as they could.


End file.
